


Matters of Promise

by Gargant



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gargant/pseuds/Gargant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have known all along that Tear Grants would be a powerful pawn to bring about her brother's downfall at your hand. That you've grown to like her is completely irrelevant to that fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matters of Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vangirl/gifts).



> oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh-- I hope you're able to enjoy :x!

When you stop walking, Tear doesn't question. She hasn't questioned anything, only rubbed the sleep from her eyes and followed you. Yulia City is never dark but it _is_ quiet at this time of night, and out here there is no one to witness what you might do.

  


It's a madness that seized you, a poor decision. You have known all along that Tear Grants would be a powerful pawn to bring about her brother's downfall at your hand. That you've grown to like her is completely irrelevant to that fact. One day Tear would come to the Outer Lands, and on that day you would be free to seize her and bring Van to his knees.

 

Only tonight you have found yourself overwhelmed with memories of a brother who no longer breathes, and you've drawn her out here. You're methodical, you're careful, you plan everything down to the letter. This sort of dangerous whimsy isn't like you.

 

You could take her prisoner here, surrounded by the non-combatants of this hidden city. You could demand they dispatch a messenger to bring Van Grants, insist he come immediately if he values his precious sister's life.

 

No, it doesn't at all matter how you feel toward her.

 

You turn, and Tear stiffens into military attention. She's still dressed in her night clothes, a light linen shift of creamy white, and you can see how much she's grown in the time you've known her. Already a maturing young woman when you first met, Tear stands beautiful now, and all the more so for her careful ramrod discipline. Long brown hair is swept back from her face, dishevelled from sleep but still attractive enough to draw your admiration. It reaches longer than yours, almost to Tear's waist, framing her body in the unnatural glow of Yulia City's constant half-light.

 

Not once has she spoken. Perhaps if she  _did_ question this would be easier.

 

“Do you know why I've brought you here, Tear Grants.”

 

If anything Tear tenses further, and the firmness of her answer doesn't quite mask the uncertainty she's working so vigilantly to conceal. “No, Major.”

 

You face her without expression, silent for a long moment. “There could be any number of reasons.”

 

Tear nods in response, and you're not sure if the slow gesture is a matter of hesitation or careful depicted deliberation. “I trust you, Major.”

 

This time you don't hesitate, rapping out your words in quick succession. You're controlled, though, precise in what you say, just how you challenge her here. You are her mentor, and this night could prove to be the final instruction you ever offer to this most promising, most admirable cadet.

 

“I have yet to provide explanation. Do you find nothing odd in my bringing you out here? In my silence? Think, Tear. We're isolated now, and you are defenceless. If I desired to harm you, how do you think you would stop me? You're unarmed, and there is no one here you can appeal to.

 

Is this the future you see for yourself in the Oracle Knights, Tear? A mindless soldier, unquestioning to all commands issued? Obedience is required within the Order, but _you_ will be required to think deeper than even those who will call themselves your peers. Tear Grants, why are you here?” 

 

Tear stares back at you, the stiffness of her jawline betraying the way her teeth have clenched behind carefully taut lips. That's not anger you see in her, but awkward self-control. She's unsettled, fighting hard not to disappoint you, trying to keep you from seeing how carefully she's thinking over everything that you've said.

 

When she finally speaks, the words are somehow both desperately obvious and painful in how they surprise her. “ _Because_ I trust you. Major.”

 

And she does. Even nervous and unsure, you can see that she does. She doesn't question what you'll do to her, that you might even choose to end her life here and now. For why would you do such a thing? Tear Grants has no notion of the danger you could pose to her – she knows nothing of the brother you have lost.

 

Yes, her life is yours – the sister of your enemy, delivered into your hands. Assigned _by_ your enemy, and how sweet such a revenge would be. To show _him_ what it means to lose a cherished sibling. You'd never intended to hurt her – she's a fine young woman, full of brilliant potential and a touching eagerness to please. That you've considered using her as leverage should be crime enough. 

 

But now you've crafted an opportunity even you hadn't expected. Now, here, it stands. This is your time to strike.

 

Tear stands, and you look to the prickled flesh of her bare arms. Yulia City isn't cold, something you trust to be a result of the incredible fonic technology supporting such an impossible environment. Even dressed so slightly you know it isn't the night air that's causing Tear's skin to chill, and you feel a twinge of frustrated guilt as you wonder just how to move next. Your gaze travels down over her form – was that a shiver, just there? - and then your attention pauses high on the girl's leg. There's something there, just barely visible beneath the edge of that light fabric.

 

You kneel, aware that your conflicted mind is latching on to the distraction. Tear's breath catches as you place your hand to her thigh.

 

It's a leather strap, tightly secured around her leg and supporting a concealed knife as well as space for several more. You look up to her, schooling your expression. You're taken aback by the sight. Tear's face is flushed now.

 

“Do you sleep wearing this?” you ask, in a tone more curious than clipped. Tear shakes her head, then pauses around clarification. You nod for her to speak.

 

“Not the knives. I...” She swallows, eyes darting away, and you're surprised that she's stumbling so much over this. Even in her greatest fits of nervousness Tear usually maintains a certain air of professionalism. Stoicism, even, a need for self-control brought about by her complicated life. Your hand is still positioned against her leg, and you find yourself offering a token of reassurance, squeezing gently. It's a poor sort of communication between a commanding officer and her subordinate, but you've already taken this well outside the usual parameters of procedure. Tear's breath catches again, and this time she closes her eyes tightly. She speaks, though, and her voice is much more like her usual self – a careful presentation of the facts.

 

“I wear the holder, and keep the knives close at hand. Even at rest it's best to stay cautious.”

 

“Very wise.” Your voice is a thoughtful murmur, eyes drawn once again to the solitary blade concealed so expertly against white flesh. “But you don't equip them before you sleep?”

 

“I keep them close,” She repeats again, and from a lesser soldier the voice might have sounded peevish. “I don't... wish to injure myself carelessly as I sleep.”

 

Wise again, but not good enough. The buckled holder is hand-made, you can see, though whether that means Tear made it _herself_ is a mystery. Regardless, you can provide something better than this – something that will allow her to sleep securely and keep her weapons as close as they need to be.

 

“Tear,” You speak abruptly, and beneath your fingers you can feel the tense dance of startled muscles. “When did you pick this one up?”

 

This time there's a pause, and then that same cold statement of facts. “When you woke me, Major. I thought this must be some sort of test. I wanted... to be prepared.”

 

Your mind casts back to Tear's bedroom, rousing the girl from restful sleep and calling her outside with no indication of what was happening. Tear had responded with perfect obedience, trying to conceal from you her silent panic. You can't remember looking away from her, and yet somewhere in that frame she'd obtained for herself a weapon.

 

It's impressive. It's deeply, truly impressive, and privately you're full of astonished admiration. Your fingers tighten against her flesh once more, and again you feel the surprised jolt of muscle, the shudder of her thigh beneath your touch. Only now, suddenly, does it occur to you how close your face is to that smooth skin, and the realisation that your hand is surely the first to lay so intimately upon the sheltered woman before you. This is no position to be in – no position for an aspiring cadet and her direct superior.

 

You don't rise immediately.

 

“This _is_ a test,” You announce, and this time you know precisely the cause of Tear's startled muffle of breath. This is indeed a test, but the recipient is not Tear Grants. You swallow, surprised to feel the edges of a smile tugging your lips. The edge of Tear's night dress rests against your wrist, and when you run your hand higher over the curve of Tear's hip the fabric moves with your movement, faintly tickling against you. Now it sounds very much like Tear isn't breathing at all, so you keep your moment of weakness brief. You lean in, pressing your lips on the tight edge between soft skin and tightly bound leather. The contrast is drastic beneath your lips, and it's an even greater struggle to force yourself back again. “This was well done, Tear.”

 

She breathes again, a great rush of exultant relief. You know her gratitude is twofold – gladness both to have succeeded in this strange turn of events, and to have something familiar and straightforward to hold on to. “Thank you, Major,” She answers crisply, and the pleasure is apparent in her voice.

 

You stand at last, looking at the woman before you. Your student, the most promising cadet you've ever had the privilege to know. Her face is flushed deeply, with a smile barely repressed and entirely earnest. You're proud to know her.

 

“Return to your quarters, Tear Grants.” You think of her sleeping, knives carefully concealed within easy reach, and add; “Tomorrow, please attend early. I have something for you.”

 

“I... Yes, Major.” Tear salutes firmly, bringing her ill-concealed delight back around to something more serious. Then she turns, a shift of thick hair and frail fabric, and starts the journey home. You try not to notice the wobble to her first few steps, or the way she tugs the hem of her nightclothes once she believes herself far enough away from your attention.

 

Perhaps one day you will know whether to consider this night a success or a failure. Watching Tear Grants turn from your sight, you suspect that only _she_ will ever be able to tell you for sure. Who knows if such a day will ever come. No matter what comes next, you startle yourself with silent hope.

 

But you can stand here no longer, having spoken yourself into a task. Tomorrow, you will present Tear a new set of knives, and the various means to store and wield them. You trust she will be appreciative – and that perhaps she, too, will some day come to understand.

 


End file.
